


The Caprican Admiral's Woman

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-24
Updated: 2009-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love story time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Caprican Admiral's Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-4.13  
> A/N: For [**dashakay**](http://dashakay.livejournal.com/) and [**angiescully**](http://angiescully.livejournal.com/) and [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/). All excerpts are from _The French Lieutenant's Woman_ by John Fowles (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1969, pages 348-350). That book may not be as good as I'd hoped, but hey, baby, it's canon!  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Bill Adama put down his folder and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Laura Roslin looked up inquisitively from her spot on the couch, brushing the strange straight hair of the wig out of her face.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Same chaos as ever," he said. "Done with that, though. It's story time."

She beamed. "I love story time."

"I know how you do," he said, and jerked his head toward the bunk. "Bed."

"Yes, sir," she said wryly.

"I think we're to the good part," he said. "I'd take that off if I were you."

"Anything you say, sir," she said mockingly, and dropped her robe in the middle of the floor. Her bare skin gleamed under the lights as she looked back over her shoulder at him, raising one eyebrow under her auburn bangs. The familiar heat sizzled through him. He pushed himself up from the desk, moving as slowly as he could manage, and picked up the book from the coffee table on his way. She met him by the bunk, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his uniform. He tossed the book onto the pillow and let her push his jacket off his shoulders.

"I missed you," she whispered, kissing his throat above the fabric of his tanks.

"I was just across the room," he said, his fingers skating over the smooth warm skin of her back.

"Doesn't matter," she said, smiling at him.

"No," he said. "I missed you too."

"You know, I like this tradition," she said, flattening her hands against his chest. "I'm glad we've kept it up."

"Which tradition is that?" he asked. His hand found her breast and he rolled his thumb over her nipple.

She drew in a breath. "The reading," she said, "but that's very nice too. I vote that we get to it."

"This isn't a democracy," he said, kissing her shoulder.

"No," she said, shaking her hair against his face and skimming the wig off, "it's a dictatorship. Get your ass into that rack, Admiral."

"Lady's in charge," he said, and she laughed. He tugged at her until she fell into his bunk on top of him. He held the book out away so that the edges wouldn't jab her. He could forget she was sick, times like these, when she was giggling on his chest, only her bare head a reminder. It had been strange, at first, to see the thin gleaming skin of her scalp instead of the tumble of auburn that had been her hair, but he liked it now. It was like silk when she nuzzled against his chest or kissed her way down his back, even moreso when she kept the kerchief on.

She bent down and kissed him, slow and indulgent, her hand braced against his ribs. He pressed up against her, the tension of the day melting away. Her tongue slid against his as her fingers stroked down to his hip.

"Keep it up," he said, "and we'll skip the book entirely."

"Noooo," she said. "We are responsible adults who understand restraint. Read."

"This book is terrible," he said, and propped himself up on one elbow. "I may have to skip some parts."

"I trust you to edit judiciously," she said, settling down against his body and closing her eyes.

"And then," he said, making his voice resonate, "they made passionate, tender, desperate love in front of the fireplace, and went to the seashore, the end."

She opened one eye and glared at him.

"Judicious," he said. "Right. Okay. This isn't just reading. It's an interactive literary experience."

"In my day, the kids called it feeling somebody up," she teased.

"You want a story or not?"

"Yes, please," she said hastily. "Go on. I'll be good. But not too good."

"That's my girl," he said. "'The bedroom was not lit except by the dusk light and the faint street lamps opposite. But he saw the gray bed, the washstand. Sarah stood awkwardly from the chair, supporting herself against its back, the injured foot lifted from the ground, one end of the shawl fallen from her shoulders. Each reflected the intensity in each other's eyes, the flood, the being swept before it.'" He set the book against the headboard, his arm half-under her head, reading over her shoulder as his free hand wandered down her body. She hummed and shifted against him as he stroked her from breast to hip, toying with her nipple or her navel as it suited him.

"'She seemed to half step, half fall towards him. He sprang forward and caught her in his arms and embraced her. The shawl fell. No more than a layer of flannel lay between him and her nakedness. He strained that body into his, straining his mouth upon hers, with all the hunger of a long frustration...'"

"So say we all," she sighed, arching into his touch.

"So say we all," he said, kissing her ear and the side of her neck. "'...with all the hunger of a long frustration - not merely sexual, for a whole ungovernable torrent of things banned, romance, adventure, sin, madness, animality, all these coursed wildly through him. Her head lay back in his arms, as if she had fainted, when he finally raised his lips from her mouth. He swept her up and carried her through the bedroom.'"

"This narrative lacks verisimilitude," Laura murmured. "I don't believe I was carried anywhere."

"You haven't got a broken foot either," he pointed out, tickling the curve of her waist. "And I hope the kissing was better than it's written here."

"Gods, absolutely." She turned her face to his and kissed him lingeringly.

"'She lay where he threw her across the bed, half swooned, one arm flung back. He seized her other hand and kissed it feverishly; it caressed his face. He pulled himself away and ran back intot he other room. He began to undress wildly, tearing off his clothes as if someone was drowning and he was on the bank. A button from his frock coat flew off and rolled into a corner, but he did not even look to see where it went. His waistcoat was torn off, his boots, his socks, his trousers and undertrousers...his pearl tie pin, his cravat. He cast a glance at the outer door, and went to twist the key in its lock. Then, wearing only his long-tailed shirt, he went bare-legged into the bedroom.'"

"Now we're getting to it," she said. "Lords, I'm glad we saved this one for a time I wasn't in the infirmary. Cottle would have been alarmed at the spike in my heart rate."

"It is a gripping narrative," he said.

"I wasn't gripped by the narrative in particular," she said, "but the interpretation is very fine. Yes, a little to the left, please. Ooh."

He nipped at her shoulder. "'She had moved a little, since she now lay with her head on the pillow, though still on top of the bed, her face twisted sideways and hidden from his sight by a dark fan of hair. He stood over her a moment, his member erect and thrusting out his shirt.'"

"Indeed," she said, snickering.

He nudged against her. "'Then he raised his left knee onto the narrow bed and fell on her, raining burning kisses on her mouth, her eyes, her throat. But the passive yet acquiescent body pressed beneath him, the naked feet that touched his own...he could not wait. Raising himself a little, he drew up her nightgown. Her legs parted. With a frantic brutality, as he felt his ejaculation about to burst, he found the place and thrust. Her body flinched again, as it had when her foot fell from the stool. He conquered that instinctive constriction, and her arms flung round him as if she would bind him to her for that eternity he could not dream without her. He began to ejaculate at once. "Oh my dearest. My dearest. My sweetest angel...Sarah, Sarah...oh, Sarah." A few moments later, he lay still. Precisely ninety seconds had passed since he had left her to look into the bedroom.'"

There was a moment of silence.

"Ninety seconds?" Laura said incredulously. "Ninety _seconds_? _That_ was the novel that got banned for so many years? For the worst sex in history?"

"Obviously storytelling has made great strides since then," Bill said, letting the book close and pushing it out of the bed.

"Mmm," she said, "or maybe it's just the way you tell it." She sighed as his fingers crept along her thigh, finding the sweet slick tender place, his thumb caressing the knot of nerves until she was shaking against him. Her body was drawn tight against his and the friction of her skin set him alight like a match striking.

"Maybe it's the story we tell together," he whispered into her ear. She turned to face him, moaning as his fingers slipped into her.

"You old romantic," she said fondly, kissing him. "It was a lovely idea."

"I forgot that was so bad," he said. "It was gonna be better, you know. In my head."

"That's okay," she said. "I have faith in your ability to make up a better scene right here and now."

"I hope I can live up to your expectations," he murmured, kissing her as his fingers thrust into her, making her hips shift. She was snug and wet around his hand, ready for him.

"You always have," she said. "Here, I'll start. 'His quivering member was inconveniently confined by the trousers of his uniform, so she divested him of them.' See how cleverly I synchronize my gestures to my words. 'She stroked him with a firm hand, admiring the vigor of his erection. He groaned a little, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer as his fingers - gods - found that spot that made her feel like it was the beginning of the world all over again, and she and he were new together.' But mostly, I don't wish that were true, because if I had met you at another time, I wouldn't have been ready."

"I wish we had more time," he said, kissing her shoulder. The pressure of her fingers sent shivers through him. She was electric and comfortable all at once.

"Bill," she said warmly, "there would never have been enough time. Eternity wouldn't be enough time."

"We could have tried to fill it up," he said against her throat. She chuckled, her skin vibrating under his lips.

"Now that sounds like innuendo," she said, a little hitch in her voice. "Please. Fill me up."

"You asked," he said, and let his fingers slip out of her as he pulled her leg over his hip. She reached down to guide him in and he sank into her, his bones melting at the heat of her.

"Mmm, yes," she said, "much better already."

"There's your verisimilitude," he said.

"Yes," she said, drawing her nails lightly down his back. He thrust into her reflexively and they both shivered. "A great improvement."

"I love you," he said, trying to focus on her eyes, green touched with brown.

"I'm so glad," she said, beaming at him. "I love you too. Perhaps a touch faster."

"Yes, sir," he said. She wriggled against him. "Careful. I thought you wanted more than ninety seconds."

She laughed and pressed her mouth to his, her hot liquid mouth that was so well-known now, her lips a little chapped, the edges of her teeth sharp. He was drowning in her body and he loved it. He couldn't wrap his fingers in her hair, but the curve of her skull was familiar in his palm, and that was a revelation, that he had had her in his arms long enough to have beloved, familiar places on her body. Heat coursed through his body, and desire, and love, and the sounds she was making set cramps starting in muscles he hadn't used in years, his body tight with the urgency to please her. Her moans were rising in pitch - she was close - he pulled her closer and ground his hips into hers, kissing her, spreading his hand over the back of her hip and holding her to him as he thrust short quick strokes into her, pushing her on, pushing her over until the sounds caught in her throat and she clutched at him, her body shaking, her face pressed into his neck.

He stroked her back, soothing her through the aftershocks, holding her as want throbbed in him. He wanted to push hard into the cradle of her body, to let it all go, but she deserved better. She deserved patience. She was gasping in his arms, face flushed eyes bright.

"Well," she said after a moment, panting, "what are you waiting for?"

"You," he said, and kissed her, all the pleasure surging back. He leaned up over her, pushing her back into the mattress, and she rolled onto her back and welcomed him into her arms. He braced his feet against the end of the bunk, pushing into her as she slung her leg up over his back and arched her hips. He was struggling for air, consumed by the glory of her, his body knotted up with need. Stars blossomed before his eyes, gold and green and the clear brown that was in her eyes, and his arms wouldn't hold him up any longer. His body jerked and the room was full of light, points of light, and the sound of her voice murmuring to him. He fell onto the mattress beside her and she stroked his chest.

"We would make great literature," she said, a little wistfully.

"We will," he promised, and kissed her.


End file.
